Expeditious Expectation
by ChibiAnimeFreak
Summary: Antonio and Lovino only knew each other through their interactions at a local coffee shop, but one date will leave them closer than either thought possible-in more than one way. Spamano.


_First off: HOLY SHIT. This thing is a monster… gah. _

_Well, now that that's out of the way…. This is a one-shot for __**animerockchic**__, who was the only person who managed to find the word I made up in the second chapter of _Rallentando Deep Within_. Therefore, she get's this prize monster of a one-shot~! _

_It's based loosely off of the _Teenage Dream_ cover by Boyce Avenue, but I will admit I diverged a bit. I do suggest you listen to it at one point, if not while reading this—though it'll probably take you more than one listen to get through this—as the lyrics are different than the original song. The line, especially, that says, "Let's just talk all through the night/there's no need to rush" influenced me. Actually, I wrote the very last bit first, and those lines directly inspired that part. _

_I think that's all… OH! _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or FIT for that matter. _

_Oh, and for those of you who don't know what FIT is (because it does come up in the story) it's the Fashion Technical Institute, which is a university located in NYC. That is the extent of my knowledge on it XD_

_Enjoy~!_

o.O.0.O.o

Antonio decided he was more than slightly interested in Lovino Vargas.

He had silently observed Lovino's quirks, faults, perfections—everything—for a few years now. But, even after all the observations made about the abrasive Italian, Antonio still found it hard to pinpoint _exactly_ what made Lovino so interesting to him. He wasn't sure if it was that he could find too many things, or if he had simply started to ignore what Lovino was about and instead admired him in essence rather than the things that made him up.

It was a bit creepy, really, how obsessed with Lovino Antonio had become, but he found he didn't care much. It wasn't as though he was stalking the Italian, and Lovino hadn't complained about it ever, so the Spaniard found no reason to stop his little routine.

Since his reasoning—however brash and immature—tended to settle his qualms, Antonio continued observing Lovino intently as the Italian went about his part-time job as a barista. He loved to watch the easily frustrated Italian as he flitted around the small space behind the counter, mixing the various coffee blends and syrups with a little crease between his brows. It was a small shop, so it was usually only Lovino and a manager present to fill orders, but they never seemed to be too overwhelmed. Of course, this meant Lovino had plenty of time to make biting comments to Antonio every day.

"Don't you have anything better to do than drink fucking fluffed-up coffee every morning?" Lovino growled one day as he handed Antonio his mocha.

Lovino's question wasn't unprecedented. The Spaniard's presence in the little café below his apartment complex was commonplace. It was almost more odd to _not_ see him there in the morning. Always, between eight and nine in the morning, Antonio was present in the warm, friendly shop.

Antonio merely smirked. "Well, if you'd go on a date with me I would." He waited for Lovino's response, watching as Lovino's cheeks turned a light pink color.

It hadn't been the first time Antonio had asked Lovino out. In reality, it was as far from the first time as one could get. Almost every day Antonio would find some new way to ask the moody Italian on a date with him, and every day he had been denied harshly.

Today wasn't any different.

"Then I guess you're stuck here," Lovino muttered, waving Antonio off so he could go attend to his next customer. But, before Antonio turned away, he heard Lovino continue under his breath, "Cause there's nothing about me you'll like anyway."

Antonio knew the words weren't meant for him to hear, but he was glad he had. As he'd been watching Lovino over the months, Antonio had noticed more than a few things about Lovino's personality that had him scared, if only for Lovino's well-being. When they had first met, Antonio had been startled by Lovino's harsh attitude as most were upon meeting him, but as he got to know him more, he had noticed the way the abrasive outer layer was simply there to protect him. It had been a startling thing for him to realize, and Antonio had wanted to be piteous to Lovino at first when he noticed just how deep Lovino's insecurities ran. Because he immediately thought people would hate him, the Italian would simply feed into that and not allow people to get close to him. He would instead snap at them early on, clipping the friendship in the proverbial bud. His philosophy: if people don't get close, they can't hurt you.

Antonio didn't know why Lovino felt this way, only that he wanted to help him stop. He didn't know, either, when he started caring, but as he talked to Lovino more and more, he delved deeper and deeper into the Italian's psyche and found himself getting more and more attached.

Antonio sighed, sinking into the worn armchair in the corner and sipping his hot mocha in contentment. His green eyes followed Lovino as he rushed to make a customer's order, dark auburn hair haphazardly arranged on his head and bouncing with his movements, hazel eyes darting around, taking in the little details needed to make the concoction.

As he slowly drained his coffee, Antonio's mind drifted. It drifted to his family back home in Spain, his little pet turtle, Toma, waiting up in his apartment, and of a hopeful future, one that wishfully included Lovino. As his thoughts arrived at Lovino again, he couldn't help but wish the Italian would just break and go on a date with him.

Then, he got an idea.

Smiling devilishly, Antonio stood and walked over to the counter again, throwing out his now empty cup on the way. He made a huge deal of peering into the display case, which was doing its job in displaying the multiplicity of little cakes, breads and cookies available to hungry customers. The café was devoid of any waiting customers at the moment, so Lovino was taking the calm moment to wipe the counter with large, purposeful sweeps of his arms. Antonio glanced up at the busy Italian to see the hazel eyes watching his browsing form, before they darted away hurriedly.

Antonio moved to the cashier station, waiting for Lovino to address him, and smiled.

He was sure Lovino liked him back. The abrasive Italian was likely only denying Antonio's offers for dates because of his pride, or lack of self-confidence, but Antonio was a persistent man when he wanted to be, and wasn't about to back down from the beautiful challenge that was Lovino.

Finally, Lovino couldn't ignore the Spaniard any longer. Huffing in annoyance, the Italian approached the counter with a death glare directed point blank at the waiting man. "What the fuck do you want?" Lovino growled.

Smiling amiably despite Lovino's rudeness, Antonio said, "A piece of the banana bread, please." When Lovino went to open the sliding glass doors behind the case, Antonio added, "And a date."

Lovino ignored the second request, instead nearly throwing the slice of sweet bread onto the counter and typing the price into the register. "Two dollars."

"For the date or the bread?" Antonio grinned cheekily, pulling out his wallet and selecting two one-dollar bills from the slot meant for them.

Again he was ignored. Lovino snatched the bills from his hand and shoved them into the register drawer with more force than was likely necessary. Before the Italian could leave, Antonio grabbed the sleeve of his grayish-green dress shirt, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

"What the flying fuck do you want, you bastard?" Lovino hissed, his eyes harsher than Antonio had ever seen.

"Listen," Antonio began, still not relinquishing his grip on the shirt, "just go on one date with me. If you decide you don't like me, then I won't come in here and bug you anymore, okay?"

Antonio's emerald eyes were pleading, begging with Lovino to say yes. The Italian looked pensive, hesitant but definitely considering the offer. Despite thinking that Lovino wouldn't decline it, Antonio's heart thumped in his chest nervously. His claim had been a hollow one; he didn't truly want to ever leave Lovino's side, much less for the chance of a date, but he was sure if he managed to break some of the Italian's barriers he would be more willing to accept Antonio's advances.

"Please?" Antonio asked again, batting his eyes in what he hoped was a saccharine way.

Lovino's eyes darted up to meet Antonio's after the last word, and he sighed, his shoulders drooping slightly. "Fine," he spat, "but you're paying for whatever the hell we do."

Antonio laughed good-naturedly, smiling at the obviously flustered Italian warmly. "Great! I'll pick you up when you get off your shift, okay?" Not waiting for Lovino to reply, Antonio hurried out the door, winking as he shifted to push the door open with his back.

Lovino watched Antonio go with an odd look, part hopeful, part scared, and part completely exasperated. Shaking his head as a customer approached, he listened to her order and went to make it. As he blended the syrup, coffee and milk mixture, a sudden thought popped into his head.

_How the hell does he know when my shift ends?_

o.O.0.O.o

Lovino finished cleaning the counter he was working on with a last flourish of his wrist on the cool granite top, and let a sigh of relief leave him. After depositing the rag in its proper place, Lovino hung his apron up on the peg in the back labeled with his name in plain block print and walked out front, informing his manager he was leaving as he exited from behind the counter.

He sighed again as he scanned the nearly empty late-afternoon-sun-lit café with tired eyes. Despite his promise, Antonio had yet to show his face. No matter how reluctant he was to go out with the Spaniard, Lovino couldn't deny he had been slightly excited at spending more time with his amicable regular. Though he was undoubtedly annoying and just overall too friendly, there was something about him Lovino couldn't help but pay attention to.

Of course, there was the obvious fact that the Spaniard was utterly gorgeous, something Lovino had tried and failed to ignore. With his sparkling green eyes, tanned skin and generally good-looking face, Antonio was quite the sight to behold. But, despite all of the blatant clues as to why Lovino thought of Antonio more than he'd like—and in situations he wished he'd never had the graces of imagining—he still couldn't pinpoint the exact trait that attracted him to the Spaniard so.

Whatever the cause, it was bad, Lovino had decided upon first thinking of him that way. He couldn't let Antonio get close—couldn't let _anyone_ get close. It was an old instinct of Lovino, a habit he had long since developed as an odd defense mechanism against those who may hurt him. It was better safe than sorry, he had always thought, and the constant barraging he had received from people—his family included—had only served to reinforce that belief.

Lovino was so occupied in his thoughts that when he exited the shop, the brisk fall air making him unconsciously pull his jacket closed more and hunch his shoulders against the wind, he failed to notice the cheery green-eyed man standing outside the door until he was directly in front of him.

"_Hola_, Lovino," Antonio said, "ready for our date?" He seemed childishly excited at the prospect, eyes shining like a child's at the sight of his favorite sweet.

Lovino started, not expecting to see Antonio there despite the plans made. He had almost convinced himself it was a fluke. Why would Antonio want him? But there he was, childish and cheerful as always. Not to mention utterly annoying.

Lovino grunted noncommittally. "Where exactly are we going?" he asked hesitantly, his stomach starting to churn. It was odd seeing Antonio outside of the familiar café setting, and it was beginning to make him uncomfortable to have the Spaniard so close without the counter separating them.

Antonio didn't seem to share his inhibitions, for he simply grinned. "Well I was thinking—" He broke off suddenly, staring at Lovino. Just as the oddly prolonged stare was beginning to make Lovino shift under its raw gaze, Antonio smiled in an amused sort of way.

"You know," he began, "now that we're right next to each other I realize . . ."

Lovino felt his heart sink, ready for the rejection that was sure to come. A small part of his brain told him Antonio was too nice for that, but he couldn't believe it, so accustomed as he was to being made inferior.

"I'm a lot taller than you, huh?"

Lovino's jaw dropped, and he merely gawked at the idiotic Spaniard. "Are you fucking serious?" he squeaked.

Antonio ignored the frustrated noise, and held his hand up, waving it over Lovino's head to measure the height it came to on Antonio's own face, finding it to barely reach the bottom of his nose. He laughed. "You're almost a head shorter than me!"

Lovino huffed, cheeks flaming. "Bastard. Is that how you treat your date?" Lovino hissed, turning away from the chuckling man, "Cause if it is, then I'm leaving."

He tried to stalk away, face still an almost worrisome red, but Antonio grabbed his wrist as he took his first step, halting him mid step.

"Wait, Lovi," Antonio said desperately, "I didn't mean it in a bad way! I think you're cute like this. It'd be weird if you were really tall." He scrunched up his nose at the thought of Lovino towering over him.

"M'not fucking cute, _bastardo_," Lovino mumbled, turning back around nonetheless, "and don't call me that ridiculous nickname."

Antonio pouted childishly. "Aw, but Lovi fits you, Lovi~!" he whined.

"No."

"Please?"

"Not in hell." Lovino ignored Antonio's ridiculous puppy-dog face, instead readdressing his original ignored question, though he didn't drop Antonio's hand still holding his own. "So where are we going?"

Antonio's face snapped back to normal—which wasn't much better—and he answered, "Ah, well since you said you're going to make me pay, and because I really don't have that much money right now, I figured I'd just make you dinner at my apartment."

Lovino lifted one delicate eyebrow. "Don't you have a job?"

Antonio grinned sheepishly. "Well technically I'm still a student, so my job doesn't help much."

This time both Lovino's brows shot up, nearly reaching his hairline comically. "You're still a fucking student? How old are you?"

Antonio looked put out by the comment. "Do I really look that old? I'm just twenty six."

"My point exactly. Why are you still in school then?"

Antonio may have been more offended by Lovino's harsh comments, but seeing the spark of interest in his eyes made Antonio hopeful. That meant he was interested in Antonio, if only a little. Or so Antonio hoped.

Clearing his throat, Antonio explained, "Well, I grew up in Spain, where my family owns a farm, but we aren't the richest people. When I got accepted to FIT here in New York it wasn't on any kind of scholarship, so I had to raise the money both for my ticket here and the tuition before I could start school. They extended my acceptance so I was able to do it."

Antonio's eyes darted to the ground for a moment, an uncharacteristic sadness echoing within them, but a moment later it was gone.

Lovino looked surprised, and more than a bit confused, but before he could voice his thoughts, Antonio said, "I don't mind talking, but can we go up to my apartment?" He made a show of shivering and hunching his shoulders. "It's kind of cold out here."

Lovino grunted in affirmation, the thought of a nice heating system and warm food not too unwelcome.

Antonio led Lovino up the stairs leading to the meager flats above the small café, stopping in front of the door labeled with a rather plain looking number eight. Antonio looked nervous, but still amusingly happy as he opened the wooden door, which had been, Lovino noted exasperatedly, left unlocked.

As he walked into the homey apartment, Lovino couldn't say he was surprised. True to Antonio's story, it really didn't seem as if he had much in the way of cash. The small space was cramped and overall not the best appearing, and was more than slightly discombobulated. The main living space was split between a small living room type area—which really only consisted of a worn, but very comfortable-looking couch and an old television—an overcrowded desk and a small table. It wasn't in the best condition, nor was it the cleanliest thing Lovino had ever seen. Really, it was one of the worse living situations he'd seen, being quite well off himself.

He loved it.

"Sorry, it's kinda small," Antonio uttered guiltily, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hands, finally having released Lovino from his grip.

"No," Lovino said firmly, startling Antonio, "it's wonderful." His hazel eyes sparkled as he examined the room, taking in every detail. He breathed in deeply, and over the underlying musk and the smell that told him it was definitely a man living here, he could smell all that was Antonio. He wasn't too familiar with the scent, being that they were never in close proximity, but Lovino couldn't help but _know_ it was his. It just screamed "Antonio" down to its very root.

Smiling at Lovino and wondering _how in hell_ he had managed to find someone as inwardly and outwardly beautiful as him, Antonio led the Italian to the couch and plopped down on the comfortable piece of furniture, Lovino following afterwards. As soon as both were seated, Antonio scooted over so he was almost uncomfortably close to Lovino, their thighs pressed together side by side.

Lovino's heart sped up at the closeness of the Spaniard, and he swallowed thickly, leaning to the side away from Antonio slightly. "S-so," he began awkwardly, wanting to continue their conversation from outside, but seeming unable to find the words, "what do you study at FIT?"

Antonio shrugged noncommittally. "What does anyone study there? Fashion." He poked Lovino in the side, making the Italian flinch and blush. "I want to know more about you~!"

Lovino shook his head determinedly.

"Aw, come one, there must be _something_ I should know about the man I'm dating."

Lovino glared. "We are not dating! This is simply a one-time thing," he denied, leaning away from Antonio slightly, "and you are _too close_."

Antonio smirked. "Fact number one: is afraid of commitment."

"_I am not afraid of fucking commitment_," Lovino hissed murderously. What business was it of Antonio's if he was a little unwilling to immediately trust?

Antonio's eyebrows rose. "Prove it."

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have said that. He had known when he breached the subject of Lovino's issues he was already striking a nerve, and pushing Lovino even closer to a murderous rampage probably wasn't the best idea.

"Fine!" Lovino shouted. Without pausing to think—for surely if he had he wouldn't have had the guts to do it—Lovino shot forward suddenly and captured Antonio's lips with his own.

Antonio's eyes widened considerably. Of all things, Antonio had certainly not expected this exact reaction out of Lovino, but as he continued to kiss Antonio with increasingly passion, the Spaniard found he really couldn't object.

He answered Lovino's movements with his own, quickly deepening the kiss and letting his tongue run along Lovino's bottom lip as he moved his lips feverishly against the Spaniard's. Surprisingly, the Italian didn't back down from the challenge, and instead opened his mouth to Antonio's hot tongue, letting the two muscles battle.

Lovino gripped his hand at Antonio's shoulder, tilting his head for better access. It was a messy, sloppy kiss, not at all coordinated and most definitely not the most loving thing either had experienced, but certainly worth it and unbelievably fiery.

It was only a moment later, however, when Lovino pulled back rather suddenly. It almost seemed as if he'd snapped back into reality, or that his mind had finally caught up with his brash actions.

"Th-there! See!" Lovino said with fake pride, though his eyes betrayed his hesitance. His cheeks were aflame, Antonio noticed, though whether from the kiss or embarrassment, he had no idea.

"I really _do_ like you, whether you want to believe it or not." When Lovino didn't respond, and still refused to look directly at Antonio, Antonio poked Lovino's cheek. "Hey, Lov?"

"What? And don't call me that name either!" Lovino sent an annoyed look Antonio's way and swatted the Spaniard's hand away.

"Aw, but it sounds almost like 'love'~!" Antonio whined.

"No."

Lovino waited for Antonio to continue saying what he wanted to earlier. When Antonio simply pouted, Lovino snapped, "Are you gonna fucking finish your damn question?"

Antonio blinked, sitting up. "Ah, right. I was going to ask: would it help if you knew something equally personal about me?"

Lovino scrutinized the Spaniard's earnest look, searching for any signs of a gag or joke. When he couldn't find any, only unbridled, heartfelt love, Lovino sighed. "Sure, bastard, go ahead."

"Nope." Antonio shook his head. "If I'm going to tell you something really personal then we should be on a first-name basis, right? No more calling me 'bastard'. It's Antonio, ¿_s__í?_"

"You have got to be kidding me," Lovino groused.

"Nope. I don't want someone who continues to insult me to know all about my most personal memories. Ask nicely~!"

Lovino rolled his eyes skywards. "Fine, goddamn it. _Antonio_, will you please tell me something about yourself?"

"Of course, Lovi~," Antonio cheered, placing an arm around Lovino's shoulders and pulling him closer.

Unconsciously, Lovino shifted so he was leaning on Antonio more comfortably, growling colorfully under his breath. He figured he could ignore the nickname just this once.

"Where to begin?" Antonio mumbled under his breath, more to himself than Lovino. His smile faded as the memories emerged into his mind, their existence rubbing salt over the wounds. It was years ago, but things like this tend take a long time to heal.

Antonio finally started hesitantly, "When I was seventeen . . . I was kicked out of my house."

Lovino froze. He would never have guessed based on the Spaniard's cheerful attitude that he was harboring something as terrible as this, but now that he was hearing it, he could start to see the cracks in Antonio's armor. Things clicked into place a bit more evenly. One would think that only someone unbelievably innocent would be cheerful all the time—as was demonstrated by Lovino's younger brother—but Antonio couldn't be that naïve. He had grown up under less than comfortable conditions, and had moved away from all of his family in Spain to live in the harsher New York City.

Was it possible Antonio's cheeriness was as shield?

Antonio spoke again, driving the pressing question to the back of Lovino's mind, "I-I came out to them, and they . . . they weren't very accepting." Antonio wore a tight smile, his eyes pained.

Lovino didn't know what to say. He couldn't comprehend a family that would sacrifice a relationship with one of its sons just because of who he is. Lovino had always grown up in a very gay friendly family. Hell, he and his brother were both homosexual, and his grandfather wasn't exactly close-minded to same-sex relationships if his on and off partner, a stingy German man, was anything to go by.

Wishing he could offer some kind of comfort, Lovino grabbed the hand hanging off his shoulder and pulled it tighter to him, successfully pressing himself closer to Antonio. He gathered his legs up on the couch to his side and leaned completely on Antonio. The man didn't seem to mind, and instead finagled himself into a more open position, pulling Lovino nearly onto his lap in the process.

Lovino buried his face in Antonio's chest. "Anyone who doesn't want you is a bastard," he murmured into it, his voice barley intelligible.

Antonio laughed lightly. "But wouldn't that make you a bastard, too?"

Lovino didn't dare look at Antonio as he said, "Not anymore."

Antonio let out a shuddering breath of relief at the admission, the ragged air ruffling the auburn locks covering Lovino's head in splendid tresses.

They sat like that for a moment, just embracing and figuring out their newfound closeness. Somehow in these few moments they had become closer than they had been in the past months of Antonio's visits to the coffee shop. It was an unusual kind of thing. Normally it would take weeks, months, to reach this kind of comfort with someone, and yet Antonio felt as if he had known Lovino for his whole life.

Finally, the time came to break free of their slowly-becoming-less-comfortable-than-at-first embrace.

"Come on, Lov." Antonio nudged Lovino, attempting to free himself of the Italian's surprisingly tight grip. "We have to go get dinner ready."

Groaning and glaring at Antonio irritably, Lovino pried himself off the couch and stood, stretching.

Standing up as well, Antonio walked around the corner, gesturing for Lovino to follow him into the cramped kitchen. "What would you like to eat?" he asked, hopping onto the counter.

Lovino gawked at him. "You haven't planned anything? What if you don't have what I want?"

Antonio simply shrugged. "It's still early, so if we need to we can run to the market across the street." He grinned. "That's one of the things I love about NYC: everything's so close by!"

Lovino rolled his eyes at the Spaniard's naivety. "Sure, sure." He looked to the clock, reading it as four sixteen, and assessed his level of hunger, finding himself undoubtedly not ready to eat any time soon. "Hey," Lovino said, "let's head to the store."

"You know what you want?"

"No," Lovino admitted, "but we'll find something."

"Sure."

And with that, the two headed out the door, Lovino making sure the door was securely locked this time before sneaking his hand into Antonio's grip shyly. Antonio looked ecstatic, and Lovino couldn't help but let a small smile grace his features. Maybe Antonio wasn't the worst person to have walked in on his life.

o.O.0.O.o

As they walked up and down the narrow aisles of the typical city grocery store, Lovino couldn't help but feel as if he'd been dating Antonio forever. Already within the past few hours of their time together, he had learned so much about the person he had previously thought of as only his overly annoying regular customer.

Guilt gathered in the pit of his stomach as he realized Antonio knew almost nothing about him. He knew what seemed like Antonio's entire life story. He knew where and how he grew up, his life in college, and how he had ultimately gotten kicked out of his parents' household for simply being attracted to other men, but Antonio had no clue of anything about Lovino's past.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to change that, but Lovino felt it was only fair to Antonio after all he'd done for him.

As if reading his mind, Antonio questioned, "Hey, Lovi, what about you?" He grabbed a strange-looking jar off the shelf and examined it before wrinkling his nose and placing it back where he got it hurriedly.

"What about me what?" Lovino asked. He readjusted the basket hanging off his arm. It wasn't too heavy, but was certainly weighed down by the dozen or so vine tomatoes and two blocks of fresh Parmesan cheese within it.

"About you. Your family. All that." Antonio rounded the corner of the aisle, disappearing from Lovino's view for a moment.

The Italian hurried after him, placing the package he had been inspecting back on the shelf before he did so. Upon emerging from around the corner, Lovino noticed how the shelves had transitioned instead to refrigerators packed from top to bottom with a variety of frozen foods. They ranged from packages of chilled peas to pizzas—at which Lovino wrinkled his nose pointedly—to pre-made dinners complete with vegetable, protein and starch. Lovino examined the multicolored display with a distracted look.

"What's there to know?" Lovino asked quietly.

Antonio opened one of the coolers, sending a cold blast of air out into the heated store, and grabbed a pint of ice cream. He read the label and nodded, promptly shutting the door to the fridge. The Spaniard placed it in Lovino's basket and met his eyes. "Well, do you have any siblings? Or how about your parents?"

Lovino flinched and looked away pointedly. "I don't want to talk about my family."

Antonio stared at Lovino for a moment, looking the Italian over for a moment. It was obvious the Italian had something personal or painful locked his memories. Antonio wanted to unveil it, to hold and comfort Lovino as he had done for the Spaniard less than an hour earlier. He was a patient man when he wanted to be, though, and it was also obvious Lovino wasn't quite ready to share it.

"Sure." He smiled. "I have an idea. Let's play the question game."

Lovino gave him an odd look. "'Question game'? What are you, five?"

Antonio continued his stroll down the aisle, Lovino trailing dutifully after. "Aw, come on, Lovi," he called over his shoulder, "it'll be fun~!"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Antonio spun back around to face the Italian. "_Bueno._ Hm," he thought for a moment, rubbing his chin almost comically, "Ah! What's your favorite color?"

Lovino shifted his weight onto one leg and crossed his arms as much as was allowed with the basket in the way. "Red," he answered without thinking for even a second.

Antonio brightened even more, something Lovino hadn't previously thought possible. "That's mine, too!"

"I'm changing mine then," Lovino deadpanned. He walked past Antonio and around the corner again, leaving the chilly freezer section behind. The next aisle, according to the sign, was carrying a variety of sauces, dips, spices and condiments.

Antonio rounded the corner quickly, nearly knocking down the bottles of pesto on the edge of the aisle as he did so. "Aw, Lovi, don't change it~! It's great that we have something in common besides the tomato thing," Antonio pleaded, emerald eyes wide and begging.

Lovino looked up at Antonio, completely ready to rebuke him and tell him off. The moment he saw Antonio's eyes, though, shining the brightest, most brilliant green, his mouth was forced shut. He blushed and glanced away. "I think I already have a new one."

Antonio cocked his head childishly. "Really? Then what is it, Lovi~? Come on, it's only fair~!"

"Maybe if you stop calling me 'Lovi' I'd tell you . . ." Lovino groused in a harsh tone, picking up a bottle of tomato sauce. Suddenly, he perked up. "Hey, basta—Antonio. I know what I want for dinner."

Antonio snapped back to reality in the blink of an eye. "Mkay. What is it?" He glanced at what Lovino was holding. "Tomato sauce? You want pasta?" Antonio couldn't stifle a laugh at the thought.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Lovino growled.

"Ah, no, just, an Italian wanting pasta? Kind of stereotypical, no?" Antonio giggled almost girlishly under his breath.

Lovino rolled his eyes and placed the jar back on the shelf. "So, just 'cause you're Spanish I'm going to assume you want fucking burritos and churros all the time?" He faced the giggling Spaniard, crossing his arms resolutely. "And besides, I don't want pasta."

"Lovi," Antonio said, finally managing to stop laughing, "burritos are Mexican, not Spanish. Though I would love a churro . . ." He gazed off dreamily for a moment before snapping his eyes back to Lovino. "What do you want, then?"

"Pizza."

Antonio raised a single chocolate brow. "We went out to the store just to have you decide you want me to call in delivery?"

Lovino wrinkled his nose. "Are you fucking kidding me? I would never eat from one of those horrible take-out places." Lovino could proudly say he had never eaten a bite of pizza made anywhere but in the kitchen of the house he was eating at. He knew he was a bit high-strung about it, but he was raised wealthy and, no matter how low he stooped, he was never going to lower his standard for food. "I'm going to make us pizza."

Antonio's eyes lit up. "Ooh, real homemade pizza made by a real Italian!"

Lovino found his eyes traveling skywards again. "There you go with the stereotypes again," he muttered.

Antonio laughed, enveloping Lovino in a hug. "Then should I say instead 'homemade pizza made by _mi Lovinito_?'" he murmured, warm breath tickling Lovino's ear.

"Get off me!" Lovino growled indignantly, wrestling himself free from Antonio's hold.

Antonio was learning not to take his aggression to heart. He could clearly see the blush tinting Lovino's cheeks and the smile curving his mouth.

o.O.0.O.o

Lovino booted open the door to the apartment with his hip, his arms full of bags. He rushed to the kitchen and placed the heavy bags down on the counter with a sigh of relief. Antonio did the same.

Lovino had ended up paying for it all, if only out of pity once he had seen Antonio's reaction to the large number that rolled up on the display, pulling out a shiny gold credit card and swiping it before Antonio had a chance to object. Of course, the card itself had garnered some questions, but Lovino had chosen to ignore those.

As soon as the bags touched the counters, the two set to work putting the things they needed immediately out on the counters and setting the other products away for later use. When everything was properly put away, Antonio pulled out probably one of the last things Lovino had expected from him. Or, well, maybe not. Now that he was seeing them he could easily picture the happy-go-lucky Spaniard prancing around his kitchen in one of them. But there was no way in hell Lovino was ever going to be found wearing an—

"—apron," Lovino stated resolutely.

Antonio put his own on, tying it behind him with an almost sickening ease. "But it'll look so cute~! And you don't want to get your nice clothes all dirty right? They look expensive."

Indeed Lovino was wearing the same button-down shirt from earlier that day, and a pair of dark wash jeans that looked as if they had cost a pretty penny, not to mention the genuine leather loafers he sported on his feet, shiny and squeaky. Overall, he looked fairly wealthy compared to his Spanish companion.

"Fine," Lovino acquiesced, "but I'm only wearing it to save the damn clothes." He swiped the apron out of Antonio's hand with a huff, throwing it over his head with a little more force than was necessary. When he attempted to tie the strings around his back in order to keep the abominable piece of clothing on, he fumbled more than once. Cursing under his breath, he tried to look over his shoulder with little success.

Chuckling lightly, Antonio swooped around Lovino and eased his hands away, taking the strings for himself and quickly fastening the tie with no problem.

Lovino grumbled in what didn't sound like a very thankful tone, and set to work on the sauce. A while later, the red tomato-y deliciousness was almost done. "We'll let that cook," he explained to the attentive Spaniard as he set the pot on the stove to finish alone, "while we make the dough for the pizza. That way when the dough's ready we can slather it with sauce right away."

Antonio nodded in understanding. "Makes sense." He smiled. Seeing Lovino in the zone like this was an amazing experience. It was similar to when he was working in the coffee shop, but even more intense. When he cooked the Italian seemed to get completely immersed in what he was doing, barely sparing time to explain his inner workings to Antonio as he stumbled along behind the speedy man.

Antonio himself was no stranger to cooking, and liked to think of himself as a fairly reasonable chef, but when setting his comparatively sloppy moves next to Lovino's artful ones, he felt as though he was a beginning violinist asked to play at the level of a professional.

"Okay, now we can mix it all together." Lovino set a pasty white mixture to the side. When Antonio questioned Lovino, he was told it was the yeast and warm water mixture. "We let that sit for about ten minutes," he explained further, "then add it to the mix we're about to make."

Antonio handed Lovino the ingredients as he was asked, hastily searching the small kitchen for the often hidden materials and handing them to the impatient Italian. "Olive oil . . . salt . . . bread flour . . . sugar . . ."

"Sugar in pizza?" Antonio wrinkled his nose.

"It's only a little bit," Lovino responded absent-mindedly. Antonio couldn't help but agree that it couldn't make too much a difference when Lovino only put two reasonably sized pinches of the small white mineral into the steadily growing mixture. Finally, they tipped the now oddly creamy yeast and water combination into the dough. Abandoning the spoon he had been using until then, Lovino pushed up his sleeves and kneaded the dough with more strength than Antonio had thought the frail-looking Italian had possessed.

"Grab that plastic wrap and rip a piece as big as the bowl," Lovino ordered, withdrawing his hand from the mixture—which finally resembled pizza dough, Antonio noted.

He did as instructed and handed the Italian the piece of plastic carefully so as not to fold it. Lovino took it just as cautiously and laid it over the expanse of the bowl before setting it to the side. He turned the heat of the stove off and set the sauce on another unheated burner instead.

Lovino gestured to the oven. "Set that to 175."

Antonio's brows knit. "Only 175?"

The Italian blinked. "Oh, Fahrenheit, right. Uh," he did some quick calculations, "I think it's about 375." After another moment of consideration, he nodded. "Yeah, that seems right. 375 it is."

Lovino watched as Antonio turned the dial—old fashioned, yes, ineffective, no—to the right temperature. "Now we wait."

He walked over to sit on the couch, Antonio following like a dog.

"Wait for what?" the Spaniard questioned as he took a seat next to Lovino.

"For the dough to rise and the sauce to cool. No more than forty five minutes."

They sat in silence for a moment, though it wasn't an uncomfortable one. Lovino was enjoying the amicable silence, and leaned back onto the surprisingly plush couch with a meditative look. Antonio had been nothing but nice to him, and yet he was still being his usual self—albeit a tad nicer than normal, and only because the bastard was so insistent upon it. He always did this, and he hated it. He wished that, for once, he could actually act how he felt without his natural defenses picking up and pushing away the ones who wished to know him. But, for some reason, it was only the Spaniard he wanted to pull closer. It was dangerous, he knew, to start trusting him so early on, but he found he wanted to know him, and wanted to be trusted in turn. Of course, the only way to be trusted is to trust others.

Lovino decided this could be a start.

Lovino took a shaky breath. "Hey, bastard." The Italian shook his head. "Antonio. I, um, well I was thinking, if you want to, I c-can tell you more about myself." He didn't dare meet Antonio's eyes. If he did he wasn't sure he would have the will to continue.

Lovino could sense rather than see Antonio brighten beside him. Before he could react, Lovino was enveloped in a crushing hug, courtesy of none other than the overly cheerful Spaniard himself. "You like me, you really do!"

After yelping—with extreme manliness, of course—Lovino nearly shouted, "If you don't get off of me I won't!" He squirmed, attempting to rid himself of the strong arms wrapped around him, and his cheeks brightened to an almost comical red color.

Rather than do as he was told, Antonio only gripped tighter, holding the feisty Italian in place. "Aw, but, Lovi, you're so comfy~!"

Despite his claim, Antonio let go only a moment later, at least a little, and resigned to instead just wrapping a single arm around Lovino's back. And, despite Lovino's own claims, he fell into the embrace, leaning against Antonio. It wasn't the worst position to be in when baring oneself to someone, Lovino decided.

"Goddamn it, idiot, you can't just grab someone like that," Lovino mumbled angrily, though it didn't sound as heartfelt as in the past.

"Sorry, Lov," Antonio spoke sheepishly, placing an awkward kiss on Lovino's head.

Lovino found himself devoid of words, and completely at a loss as to what he was supposed to be telling Antonio. There was so much to cover, and so much of it was buried so deep in his mind, Lovino knew it would be hard at least to dig it out, if not downright painful.

"How about I ask and you answer, hm?" Antonio suggested as if sensing Lovino's discomfort.

Not trusting his voice, Lovino simply nodded. Why was Antonio so damn nice to him after how Lovino treated him? Lovino had no idea what made the Spaniard so tolerant of his abrasive attitude, nor why he even bothered with the Italian in the first place. It was mind-boggling—_he _was mind-boggling.

At first it was annoying, but as the afternoon passed and the sun sank below the horizon, Lovino found he was being less aggravated by Antonio's attitude and more grateful of the loving bastard. He had been so starved of affection and understanding, so used to people brushing him off as nothing more than an irritable eyesore that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be loved.

"Well," Antonio spoke suddenly, snapping Lovino out of his thoughts, "let's start simple, shall we? Where were you born? Or, where did you grow up?"

Lovino took a shaky breath. "I think I was born in Rome somewhere, but I don't really know. As for where I grew up," Lovino thought for a moment, "it depends what you mean by 'grew up'. I mean, I guess I spent my first few years in Rome, but I don't remember that. Then we lived outside of Venice for a while—that's where my brother was born. But when . . . w-when I went to live with _Nonno_ we came here, to New York City. I think I was about five then."

"You have a brother?" Antonio questioned.

Lovino nodded, scowl deepening. "Yeah, a fucking idiot of one. Feliciano. He's three years younger than me and, I swear, the most airheaded person you'll meet. He makes you look like fucking Albert Einstein." He sighed. "But he's so damn perfect, you can't help but either love him or hate him. Fucking prodigy, he makes the best goddamn pasta in the world."

Antonio looked surprised. "Better than you?"

Lovino gave him an odd look. "Whaddya mean 'better than me'? You haven't even tried my shit. And trust me, once you try his, my cooking really _is_ shit. Or at least _Nonno _always thought so."

"'_Nonno_'? Is that—"

"My grandfather, yeah. That bastard." Lovino shook his head tiredly. "I mean, I guess I love him, but, goddamn, he sure knows how to ruin a teenager."

"Ruin? Lovi, what happened?" Antonio looked almost scared now, and certainly worried about the slightly younger Italian.

Lovino simply waved him off. "It's over and done with now, don't worr—"

"Is that why you're so self-conscious?" Antonio interrupted.

Lovino stared at him in mute shock, hazel eyes round. He simply continued to stare at Antonio, scaring the Spaniard. Had he gone too far? Crossed a line? Finally, after a moment of silence, Lovino swallowed harshly, reassuring Antonio that he had not pushed Lovino over the edge, but that he'd gotten a tad too close for the Italian's liking.

"I-I . . . I guess so, yeah," Lovino finally muttered, his voice barely a decipal above what was needed to be audible. He snuggled into Antonio's hold a bit more, unconsciously seeking comfort when in such a raw state. In order to reassure him even more, Antonio reached the hand positioned behind the Italian so he could run it through Lovino's auburn hair comfortingly. Lovino seemed to enjoy the random affection, pressing his head into the hand almost like a cat nuzzling the hand petting it.

"Do you, ah, have any more questions?" Lovino asked hesitantly.

Antonio did, most certainly. There was no end to his curiosity when it came to the abnormally close-minded Italian he was currently holding in his arms. But, despite what was often said of Antonio's obliviousness, he could sense Lovino's growing discomfort and emotional rawness.

"Yes," Antonio admitted with a sigh, easing himself out from behind Lovino, "but I'm pretty sure the dough is done rising."

Sure enough, when they arrived in the kitchen, the two found that the dough had risen to the necessary size. "Perfect," Lovino admitted, grabbing the bowl and moving it back onto the open counter so he could uncover it.

"Coat that with flour, will you?" Lovino gestured with his chin to the cutting board to his right as he ripped the plastic off the bowl and grabbed the heavy dough from within. "And don't hold back. We don't want the dough to stick."

Antonio nodded dutifully and turned to grab the huge bag of flour Lovino had bought upon discovering Antonio didn't keep any in his house. He broke it open—careful not to tear the entire thing and send the white powder all over the floor—and grabbed a handful.

As he padded a thick layer of flour on the slowly turning white cutting board, Antonio turned to gaze at Lovino as he worked on kneading the dough into a more tamable consistency, an idea forming in the depths of his mind. He smiled mischievously, and coated his pointer finger in the power.

"Hey, Lovi," Antonio said roguishly, cunning smile never leaving his face.

"What do you want, bas—AH!" Lovino shrieked as a dollop of flour was deposited none too subtly on his nose. His hazel eyes were wide in surprise, mouth a perfect little _O_.

"Oops," Antonio grinned like a kid who had broken a vase and stowed the shattered remains under the carpet.

"You bastard," Lovino cried, nearly throwing the dough onto the coated cutting board, scooping his own handful of flour and chucking pouring it over Antonio's head.

Antonio frowned, rubbing the bits of white powder that hade made it over his eyes. "I didn't think I'd go white for a while." He tried to peer up at his hair with his eyes, sending them skywards comically.

Lovino snorted with laughter, the sound shocking his Spanish companion. Suddenly, he broke down laughing, full out, belly laughs emitting themselves from his mouth. "You . . . you snorted . . ." Antonio choked out between laughs.

Despite his obvious annoyance, Lovino was laughing too, albeit a bit less heavily than Antonio. "Sh-shut up, bastard."

"Come on, we need to finish this pizza or we'll never eat," Lovino said when Antonio's guffaws finally calmed to mere chuckles and giggles.

Antonio observed as Lovino kneaded and worked the dough into perfect pizza-form, the dough thin in the center, but thick around the edges. Though the Italian tried to hide it, Antonio could still catch sight of the smile inching its way across his face.

Today was successful, Antonio decided as they quickly finished the pizza, spreading the sauce and toppings on, depositing it in the oven and eating it once it was finally finished and ready to go. So much progress had been made in terms of emotional bonding between the two of them. Antonio never would have imagined it going this well, but here he was, enjoying homemade pizza with Lovino and _laughing_ with him. It was simply astounding.

When the two had finally finished up the last bites of the pizza—the whole thing was gone, Antonio marveled—they made to deposit the dishes in the sink. When Lovino went to start cleaning the kitchen, though, Antonio waved him off. "I'll do it in the morning. It's too late now."

"If you say so." Lovino wasn't about to do extra work if he didn't have to.

They stood like that, in silence, each enjoying the other's company for the moment; neither was willing to accept it was almost time to depart.

"Hey, Lovi," Antonio said, "why do you work as a barista if you're so rich?"

Lovino sighed a deep, heartfelt sigh. "_Nonno_ owns a chain of restaurants here in the northeast United States, so that's where the money comes from." He sighed. "I guess I just don't want to depend on him completely. If he wasn't so insistent I would only live off the money I make."

Antonio nodded. He could understand why Lovino felt that way. Coming from no money himself, he couldn't quite comprehend having it all and giving it away so easily, but knowing Lovino he could imagine someone selfless enough to do it. There's no one more selfless than someone who doesn't care about himself.

"Lov, come here," Antonio said, gesturing with his hand as something caught his eye, "you have some sauce." When the Italian leaned in—amazing Antonio with how trusting he had become—Antonio surprised him by, instead of brushing it away with his finger as Lovino was expecting, pressing his lips to the spot just on the edge of Lovino's mouth. His tongue darted out, quick like a snake's, and lapped up the tangy sauce.

As he pulled back, his emerald eyes met Lovino's own half-lidded hazel ones. Within seconds of breaking away, Lovino reached behind Antonio's head and pulled him back forward, locking their lips together gently. Unlike their first one from hours later, this kiss was full of love and all of the bared emotions from the day previous mixed together to form some kind of indefinable bond between the two Europeans.

Eventually, they broke apart. When they did, the two simply stared at one another for a moment, neither wishing to break the tranquil environment.

"Lov," Antonio dared to disrupt the mood, "will you stay the night?"

Immediately Lovino's eyes were wide and terrified again. He backed away hurriedly. "I knew it, I fucking knew it," he chanted, "I knew you were just doing all this for a fuck. I should have seen it, should have known, damn it, so stupid—"

Antonio's previous confusion disappeared in an instant. "No, no, Lovino, you have the wrong idea," he explained quickly, trying to approach the retreating Italian, "Lov, I just don't want you to leave." He grabbed Lovino's wrist, making him flinch. "I think if I wake up and you're not there, I'll think this was all a dream. Please, Lovino, I want it to be real."

Antonio pleaded with Lovino with his eyes, the usually cheerful emeralds uncharacteristically watery and terrified. When Lovino continued to look unsure, though more considering, Antonio tried again, "Lov, I don't want to have sex tonight, okay? I just want to hold you and know that you're real."

Slowly, Lovino nodded.

As they walked to Antonio's bedroom, Lovino's heart thumped almost painfully in his chest. He could understand Antonio's sentiment completely. Hell, he felt the same way. He would never dare call Antonio after that night, would never even dare to believe it had occurred.

It was a terrifying thought.

They both undressed in silence, Lovino not daring to glance across the room to Antonio. As soon as he was down to only his boxers, Lovino slipped into bed as quickly as possible.

Antonio joined him a moment later, immediately snuggling up close to the Italian. Lovino shied away from him slightly, leaning back from the Spaniard's close contact.

"Lovino," Antonio pressed his forehead to the Italian's, staring intently into the unsure hazel eyes directly before his own, "I want you to hear exactly what I am saying, okay?" When Lovino didn't answer, he said again, this time more pressingly, "Okay?"

Reluctantly, Lovino nodded, hesitant eyes drifting from their locked position on the fluffy duvet to meet those of his newfound . . . whatever they were now. He wasn't quite sure what to call them. Labeling them as being something as childish as "boyfriends" seemed so cliché and underrated after all that had happened that night and the afternoon prior. But Lovino didn't think he could ever call Antonio simply a random customer again; they had now far surpassed that, and it was clear Antonio didn't want anything such as that anymore. And, upon slight introspection, Lovino found he really didn't care for it either.

Shifting to press the gentlest kiss against Lovino's forehead, his lips barely brushing the bare skin, Antonio sighed. "I don't need anything from you, Lovino," Antonio began, unsure of exactly how to properly convince the Italian, but willing—and determined—to do his best, "not sex, or time—nothing except you, and who you truly are. So you're a bit hotheaded; I don't care, and, actually, I think it's amazingly cute how your face gets all red when you're angry or frustrated, and the way you scowl—though I can't deny I love it when you smile—is so truly _you_ that I wouldn't ask you to brighten up for the world."

Antonio nuzzled Lovino's face, usually so betraying of his feelings and innermost thoughts—if only to the Spaniard—but now so very blank and pensive. Antonio was a bit worried for his love, but rather than daunt him, it drove him to continue. "And when you smile . . . it's so rare, but, _dios_, Lovi, I don't think I'd want it to be more common." Antonio let a warm smile form on his face, his lips curling against Lovino's reddening cheeks. It was a good sign; it meant he was hearing it, at least. "I mean, if it was then surely I'd die of heart failure, such a happy expression on your face—especially when I managed to cause it—makes it beat so fast."

Lovino hesitantly uncurled from his ball, snuggling up to Antonio, barely moving a centimeter at a time, but gradually coming to rest even closer to Antonio than before, wrapped in the Spaniard's arms with Lovino's head resting on his chest. He listened contentedly to the steady thumping of Antonio's heart. Finally he was starting to believe—starting to _allow_ himself to believe—that heart could possibly belong to him.

Antonio let out a shuddering breath, the air rustling the strands on Lovino's head. "You're amazing, Lovino, truly, and . . . I love you, truly, I do."

Lovino closed his eyes, the steady thrum of the heart so close to his ear and the breath constantly parting his hair gently lulling him into a state he wasn't so keen to leave. It was odd, really, how relaxed he felt in these tan arms, the arms, which had, before today, been almost alien to him. The same went for Antonio himself. Before this afternoon "date" Antonio had been nothing more than an annoying person who happened to be in his life, but now Lovino didn't think he could live it without him.

Without a doubt—

"I love you, too, bastard."

o.O.0.O.o

_Hm, I may post an epilogue or something explaining loose ends and such. It just got so looonnnngggg. Ugh. Took me like a week to do… Ah, and next chapter of _Rallentando Deep Within_ has yet to be written, so expect it at some point next week….ish. Almost definitely by Wednesday, though. I always post within the week. And, hey, last week I posted twice (I was on vacation) so y'all can go without a week. Maybe. (though I don't know if I can… XD). _

_(And excuse my southerness there. I am actually _not_ from the southern USA… nor have I ever been there… Unless you count Florida, but no one does. At least not here in the _NORTH_east.)_

_Chibianimefreak out~_


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